Driving Myself Insane
by Lament of Meow
Summary: GeorgeCho. George dosen't think he can ever get over Fred. Hermione, however, has a plan: he just needs a distraction and the now empty Transfiguration post at Hogwarts is just the thing. Cho, however, also wants the post. The two spectacularly collide.
1. Chapter 1

**New Summary! This story now comes with plot!**

A/N: Okay, this is my first shot at a Harry Potter fanfic and I only have vague ideas as to where I am going with this. If you have any suggestions then please feel free to give a shout. This started out as a dare my friend gave me where she was like, "Write an angsty George fic. But do it without using the line, 'It was a wonderful day, but if only it could reflect what was inside him it would be dark, gloomy, and oh so horrible.'"

So I tried. I know the beginning is a little shaky, but please bare with me. I hope to work it out to make it better and then edit a little. But thanks for reading anyway.

**Edit: I cleaned it up a bit and I am much happier with it. **

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It didn't feel like a limb was missing, it didn't feel like his heart had stopped pounding, or even that a little bit of his soul was gone.

It was worse.

A limb wasn't missing, it was his whole torso. And somewhere within that lost mass of muscles and flesh was a little organ that throbbed painfully, plummeting its broken pieces to the bottoms of his frigid feet to the tips of his numb fingers. A little bit of his soul wasn't gone; it was torn viciously in half.

"Oh…God…" his mother's restless sobbing barley filtered through the haze that clouded his usually sharp mind. He…couldn't understand, really, why he couldn't join her. His heart, his mind, his body was breaking straight down the middle and hot, burning lava that grated like sand was slowly filling the gnawing crevice and yet still no likening of tears crept behind his eyes. No inkling of that tickling sensation, no matter how long he pressed the heals of his shaking palms into his eye sockets, dared to creep behind his retinas and spill out.

He supposed that he would have to change the name of their shop. Take off the "s" at the end of the name and all that. And he would have to delay the date for the release of their next project, there was no way he could finish it by himself in so short a time. And what to do with his stuff? He would have to go through it, paper by paper, trinket by trinket to see what to keep and what to throw out. Maybe his mum would help with that.

"Oh, Freddie…"

Though, she might not be in any fit state for that in a while. But he would like to do what he could as soon as he could. Fred's motto after all,"Why do today what you could to tomorrow but since today is yesterday's tomorrow you might as well get it over with on the day before the day that was yesterday's tomorrow's tomorrow."

Always smiling...

He supposed, now that Percy was back, he could help him get things in order. He was rather good with a quick-notes quill and after years of pranks with his twin, George had become rather excellent with sticking spells. Between the two of them, even with their mother temporarily out of commission, they could get Fred's stuff packed, labeled, and stored in no time.

"I…" his voice shocked even himself, though it was not loud and cracked unsteadily. But he was resolute, he needed to go take care of these things. Now. The quiet that issued after his broken syllable was defining and he was almost afraid to break it again. Even his mother's sobs had quieted down, "I…think I'll see to the shop now."

George refused to meet anyone's eyes, but simply stood up on shaky legs, looking down at the peaceful face of his almost-sleeping other half. And suddenly, as if somewhere inside the twisty turny neurons that made up his brain a switch had been flipped, he was overflowing with anger. How _dare_ he leave him here all alone. What was he supposed to do? Live without him? He might just as easily have told him to see without eyes.

Enraged, George's fists balled at his sides until his knuckles showed white with the strain and the creaking of two wands, both 6-inch holy with twin cores of dragon's heart string, sounded as they were crushed together in his right hand. Without a second look towards any of his family or the rapidly swelling crowd of happy revelers, George stalked out of the Great Hall and towards the exit of his very own personal hell hole.

He stopped for nothing. His long legs carried him through the mismatched piles of striking red blood, rippling water, and unidentifiable liquids as he all but ran through the entrance hall and out the front doors. He was past Hagrid's hut in no time and the minute he was clear of the boundaries of Hogwarts, he disapparated to his and…_his_ shop in Diagon Alley.

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The crash of glass against the wall did nothing to dim the furry that radiated from the very tissues of George's shaking frame. Picking up another unidentifiable item, he hurled it towards the wall of their shop, affectionately examining the broken pieces that resulted from his throw.

Their shop was in ruins. The once neatly stacked piles of jokes and prank boxes were strewn about the floor, the more breakable ones shattered and still where they had been carelessly tossed a moment before. George didn't seem to care. Still enraged at the audacity of his brother to actually _die_ on him like that, he grabbed onto anything he could reach, crashing them against the walls and drinking in the sounds they made as they were broken beyond all recognition.

He reached for the next object that would dare to be whole while he was anything but, when his hand encountered empty air. He stared at his gaping hand, brain slowly comprehending that there was nothing left for him to break.

There. Was. Nothing. Left.

It was like a physical blow to the chest. One minute there was air in his body, and the next he was gasping, hands going to his chest over his heart, clawing at it, trying to peal back the skin and remove the organ that seemed to have suddenly burst within itself and flooded his entire being with the utmost sense of agony. He dropped to his knees, never minding the glass and bits that punctured his skin, and slowly fell over, one hand reaching out and catching his upper body so that he lay in a crouched position over the broken remnants of objects that he had once been so proud of. His right hand continued to twist in his cloak, his nails digging into the fabric above where his heart beat erratically, shoving its broken pieces into his blood stream and sending them into his shaking limbs and throbbing eyes with every uneven thrust.

And then it was like his body was overflowing as he gasped in painful oxygen a second later, sorrow and pain exploding though his body until it overflowed from his eyes as his right had continued to tighten against the _pain_ in his chest. It was only as the first drop passed down his face to drip between his hands that he realized he was finally crying.

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There it was, and I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you so much for reading and _please_ feel free to review and tell me what you think. As long as you don't flame. Please don't flame.


	2. Chapter 2

**Please read this author's note!** I had an idea for a paring and I was wondering what you would think. It would be a slash with George/Draco. I know it's a little out there, but I hope I could pull it together without any random jumps. And I also don't know how everyone feels about slash. If the people reading this don't like it, then I won't do it. It's only fair. I could always make it a straight couple as well. The other one that I had in mind was George/Cho, because you would think she'd have found some peace by now. Or even George/Luna, though I always have liked Neville/Luna. Please, if you like one of the ideas, please say so. If you don't, please say so as well. Thank you again for reading and much love to Luthien's-Dream, Noc007, Bad Mum, and lustoflostlove. You all are my heroes and I want to thank you for reviewing. The feeling you all inspired is indescribable.

**Edit: I went back and changed a few things that didn't seem right to me, and I hope that it made it more readable. Thanks! **

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Ron had never considered himself a very patient man. Nor had he ever considered himself the owner of a rather even temper. Hermione, bless her soul, was kind enough to overlook these small faults and proceed to love him anyway.

A week of waiting for his stupid daft brother to show his stupid daft face out of his stupid daft shop, however, was causing him to wear on even Hermione's vast (and sometimes cleverly hidden) kindness. The Weasleys had set up a kind of watch outside the building that used to be _Weasley's__ Wizard__ Wheezes_ but was now nothing more than a faded, boarded up shop that easily blended in with the other faded, boarded up shops that surrounded it.

After He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeat, Diagon Alley was one big eyesore that fell into all kinds of trouble as it tried to get itself back together. Floo networks had to be rewired, magical rifts had to be tended to, and it was another week before The Great Infestation of Un-Godly and Monstrous Creatures of rats (magical and otherwise), terminates, spiders, cockroaches, beetles, mosquitoes, flies, and other such critters could be taken care of. Not to mention the eradication of the small such and such cart sellers who had wheedled their wares during the second uprising of You-Know-Who selling "charms" to "ward off evil of mammoth proportions."

Therefore, understandably concerned for her son's well being, Mrs. Weasley had resulted to owling small baskets of food and water into the shop's window, the only orifice of the house that had not been forcefully stuck shut and warded against any who would try to enter. This had nothing, of course, to do with her misplaced sorrow and was in no way her coping method of choice to get her through her son's death. The resulting burned breakfasts, lunches, and dinners after Hermione had wrongly pointed this out are only a testament to how much this is _not_ what Mrs. Weasley was doing. Not satisfied in being only able to make sure George actually got food (because she still wasn't sure that he truly ate it when it arrived, though she was fairly certain that George wouldn't_ starve_ himself to death. It wasn't nearly dramatic enough) she probed and prodded her entire family, including Hermione and Harry, to promise themselves to one day a week that they would stand watch over the shop's door in case he all of a sudden decided to make an appearance.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sadly too preoccupied with the slow but steady rebuilding of the Ministry of Magic to get any sleep, better yet keep a watch (and yet still Mrs. Weasley made the time every Thursday). Ron had volunteered for Wednesday because none of the others could take it. Ron, one of the heroes of the Wizarding World, was still a dropout. One who was slowly waiting for his name to gain even more fame in the hope that future employers would judge him solely on that instead of on his severely lacking credentials. Hermione, never one to leave anything to chance nor to base her employment merely on her outstanding heroic deeds, was finishing her N.E.W.T.S. by owl-post and so needed the weekends to study while she helped the newly inducted Headmistress McGonigal during the weekdays with reinstating the Hogwarts curriculum; the only day she could wrangle free was Monday. It was also a fairly cemented fact that once the small detail of Hermione's N.E.W.T.S. were in order she would become the new DADA teacher, a seven day a week job. Ron was desperately hoping that the curse would be broken with her instatement.

On Hermione's duty two days ago, she had sadly reported that absolutely nothing had changed. On his duty yesterday, Percy quickly gave the same report before hurrying off to help Mr. and Mrs. Weasley at the Ministry. With only one more hour of watch to go, it was looking to Ron that his day would be another negative on the George scale. He could only hope that Ginny would have better luck tomorrow.

Whistling to himself, Ron kicked back his feet and leaned up against the brick of the wall behind him, the red stone still slightly warm from the sun that had gone down hours ago and a welcome relief to the chilling 6 o'clock wind that passed through the nocks and crannies of the winding streets. A waste bin tumbled down with a crash, hardly startling Ron who just glanced over, watching the small furry shape that caused the incident dart off into another building, absent mindedly marking a tally in his mental "Non-Magical Rat" column, the first of the day while his "Magical Rat" column was close to overflowing.

Ron turned his gaze up and took his time looking at the stars. It wasn't so bad just looking at them without the intention of memorizing every placement and turn of the seasons in preparation for some kind of horrid test. Just looking at them, seeing them bright up the night, reminded him of everything that he and the others had been fighting for. With a small pang, he realized just how much he had missed Hermione during the day they had been apart. Yes, it was only a day, and yes, it was kind of sappy, and yes, he would kill anyone who ever found out, but they had been together for so long as friends that as boyfriend-girlfriend the experience was so oddly and wonderfully different and he just couldn't get enough.

Now if he wanted to hold her hand, he did. If he wanted to kiss her, he did. Hold her, he did. It was a welcome relief from the stilted and quickly redirected arm motions he was used to making around her. Ron was so lost in thoughts of Hermione and her eyes, and her hair, and her fingers, and her lips, that the next trash bin he heard falling down barley even registered on his radar, his mental tally merely tacking one onto a random column as Ron's conscious mind was as far from his sentry position as it could possibly be.

So it's understandable that when a large hand reached out of the dark alley where the crash had emanated from that Ron jumped a little bit. His squeak of a scream, however, is left on its own to be understood and Ron spent a moment in his paralyzed terror thanking all that he knew that no one had been around to hear that rather unmanly display of fear.

"What the blazes are you doing here?" a slurred and familiar voice said in his ear. Shaking his head to rid it of the sound of his pounding heart, Ron was miffed that it only made it worse and instead strained his ears to catch the words.

"George? Is that you?" Ron asked as he squinted into the dark. All he could see was a vague grey shape that might or might not be a human. He wrinkled his nose as an overpowering odor of _stale_ hit his nostrils.

"'Course it's me. Who else could make you scream like a girl?" the ragged voice continued with a slight hint of what Ron new to be George's regular voice. The dark shadow stepped into the light and it was all Ron could do not to squeak again.

It appeared that George was physically fine. Ron would be happy to tell his mother to stop worrying; George was eating her food. Looking closely, Ron was unfortunately able to tell that it had been a while since George had seen a shower. Or even a bar of soap. His bloodshot eyes and slur of speech, however, told another story.

"Are you drunk?" Ron asked in disbelief. George had always been able to hold his liquor. It was Fred—Ron's mind was firmly stopped by a DO NOT GO THERE sign and his thoughts quickly moved on—it was the rest of the family that had its problems.

George giggled, "Only a little." Which was to say a lot. Ron had a sinking suspicion that he now knew what had become of all those carefully filled water jugs his mother had sent up.

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Ron slug George's arm around his shoulder and lugged him over to a clearer street, "I'm going to take you home now, okay George?"

George just giggled again, "Pfft. If you even think of disapparating, we're sure to lose at least a leg or two. And mind you, I've only got one ear left!"

Ron spared a moment to roll his eyes before he got a better hold on his completely plastered brother and, in a blink, they were gone.

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Thank you once again for getting through that and PLEASE tell me what you think about the George/Draco, George/Cho, or George/Luna. I'm split down the middle (or I guess triddle...?) so what you think would help a LOT. Thank you for reading again and please feel free to review.


	3. Chapter 3

Yay! New summary and the pairing has officially been decided. It will be a **George/Cho** and thank you to Rosie and The Happy Stalker Ball who not only reviewed but actually answered my question (Happy Stalker Ball, you did everything I could have hoped for and more). Now that I have an idea _what_ I'm going to do with this, hopefully the writing will get better or at least I'll have something to write badly _about_. Thank you so much for reading, it really does mean so much to me.

**Edit: Changed, like, three words. Go me. **

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On recollection the following morning of his rather outrageous behavior, George could do nothing but groan. Then clutch his head in his hands while he waited for the desperate thumping of his temples to calm down. Getting drunk was _not_ one of his best ideas. Though, in his defense, not being drunk had seemed like the greater of two evils at the time.

After he was sure that his head wouldn't fall completely off at the slightest of movements, George took his time waking the rest of the way up. Moving it really, really slowly, he was able to gauge just how much torture he could place on his cranium before it would break into thousands of millions of burning little pieces. His eyes felt too gritty to even attempt to open, and he brought one of his hands up to rub at them, wincing as the grains scraped against his eyelids. Once he was relatively sure that they were no longer glued shut, George struggled open a single eye.

And then, as the noon sunlight from the nearby window assaulted it, shut it faster than his brain could process. George breathed deeply, waiting for the renewed throbbing and blinding pain that reverberated throughout his head to stop and go away before he bit by bit turned his head away from the window, his eyes firmly shut until the backs of his eyelids faded from a bright red to a dusky blue-pink.

Taking a breath and gathering his courage, George cracked open his eye again. The glare from the sun was still bad, though it was no longer piercing straight to his retinas. Satisfied that he wouldn't explode, George opened both his eyes and ever so slowly sat himself on the edge of his bed, hunching over to lesson the distance between his body and the floor. Just in case, as his wobbling and cloudy vision was warning him, they decided to become better friends any time soon.

Never one to stop just because it was hard or caused him immense physical suffering, George continued to straighten himself out until he was sitting up straight, one hand attempting to reign in his galloping brain by clutching his skull and the other lying flat and bracing his body up on the bed. George was sure that if he just sat like he was for the next thirty years his head would _surely_ go back to normal.

However, glancing around by moving just his eyes, George became quite certain that his mother and brothers wouldn't allow him that peace. He was back in his and Fre…he was back in his old room at The Burrow and he was fairly certain that Ron was the reason for this. George's eyes widened as he grasped that thought and, causing several varying levels of pain, quickly checked himself to make sure that all his body parts were still attached. It wasn't that he didn't _trust_ his little brother, it was just that he didn't trust his little brother's ability to disapparate and apparate in one piece. Reaching both hands to the sides of his head, George was relieved to find his single ear in place as well as the black hole that served him in his lost appendage's stead. The little hole had become so much a part of him that he would have missed it if it had gotten lost.

After taking a few minutes to compose what little was left of his tattered dignity, George cautiously rose from the bed, pushing himself up and off the rumpled covers. Once he was tentatively standing, George crushed his eyes shut in a feeble attempt to block out the booming and tumbling agony that once again played on his severally abused neurons. Stepping slowly out with one foot like a swimmer testing the temperature of pool water, George found his floor to be thankfully solid and gradually made his memorized way towards the exit of his childhood room.

He had made it halfway across before his path was impeded by something soft and yielding. Opening his eyes a slit, George peered down at what had stopped his cautious footfalls.

An extra-long, perfectly made bed with its red covers pulled over and to the top of the pillow stared at him in accusation. It was obvious that this bed had been made for a while; it was just as obvious that it had not been slept in for a long, long time. The pristine covers confused George who thought for sure that they should be in disarray like his own. The pounding in his head seemed to lesson and drown away until he felt like he was underwater and he took his time counting up the things that were wrong with the neatly made bed.

Once he reached 126 and it seemed like he wouldn't stop for a long while, George gave up and simply reached a hand out to the bedspread, pleased to see that it only shook a little, and ran his palm over the corner that he had nudged with his leg, smoothing the rumple he had caused. Patting it once, George steadied himself on the bedpost and walked himself around the bed. Once his hand left the wood, George's brain resurfaced and with it the excruciating agony that had momentarily seemed to lapse viciously and ruthlessly attacked his unarmed temples.

Groaning, George coughed and hacked as his dry throat splintered and fractured at the attempted sound. Returning one hand to his forehead, he reached the other one out and placed it on the doorknob. With a twist, he quietly shoved open the door and cautiously stepped outside, wary of any meddling brothers, Boy-Who-Liveds, Girlfriends of brothers, fathers, and most definitely of any mothers he might come across.

Finding the hallway blessedly empty of all the above, George shut his door behind him and crept towards the stairs at the end of the hallway that would take him down into the kitchen and the kitchen's backdoor where he could only hope to make his grand escape.

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Cho Chang realized she was being silly. It was quite obvious that Harry had moved on from her and onto that Weasley Girl. It wasn't that she minded, oh no! It was just that she couldn't allow things to end the way they had between them.

And that was the reason that found Cho Chang standing nervously at the entrance to the Burrow at exactly 12 'o clock on a Thursday afternoon; she was here for their friendship, not at all because she was _jealous_. She knew that they had left things a little unsteady between them, what with Harry leaving her at that teashop in Hogsmeade on Valentines Day and then that Weasley Girl stopping her from even _talking_ to Harry on the eve of The Last Battle.

Okay, Cho thought with a small wince, perhaps maybe sorta Harry hadn't exactly _left_ her at the teashop. In fact, if she was perfectly honest with herself (though she hated to be in times like this), she would have to say that her bursting into tears might have had something to do with it.

It was just a really distressing time in her life! It wasn't like she had ever been in love before, and she was positive that she had loved Cedric. She had just needed some time and someone to talk to and Harry seemed like he would be able to fulfill that and when he didn't she just got a _little _overemotional.

Cho nodded to herself, she had finally found emotional peace and she was here to make sure Harry knew this. And if he threw himself into her arms in apology for ever dumping her and they walked off into the sunset then that would just be happy collateral.

Blushing, Cho shook her head to rid herself of the pleasant vision and set her shoulders. Nothing would get done if she didn't at least _knock_ on the door anytime soon. Cho reached her hand up to do just that when her fist went straight through the suddenly open door and into the face of the one who had opened it.

"Bloody hell! What did you do that for?" A rasping voice asked from the doorway. Cho blinked in shock, her eyes going wide as she realized her blunder.

"Oh…oh! I'm so sorry! I was only trying to knock, and then the door opened and then you were there and my fist—"

"Look, don't worry about it. You just startled me." the voice croaked as the figure loosened his hands from his now bruised face and lowered them so that he could get a good look at her.

And Cho was free to get a good look at him. It was one she would rather have liked to give back. The person before here was most definitely one of the Weasley boys, that much she could tell from the shockingly tangled red mop that was masquerading as this poor boy's hair. His face resembled that of a puffy goldfish, his eyes and face red and blotchy and swollen. His clothes were rumpled and stained and looked like he had worn them to sleep. Several times.

All in all, Cho rather wondered at the state that Mrs. Weasley kept her children in. She could only hope that Harry was in better condition! She had been delighted to hear that he had been staying with the Weasleys since it meant he was only a short boom flight away, but if this was what became of one's appearance when living here too long then she would have to suggest that he move his residence elsewhere.

"Are…are you okay, sir?" Cho asked nervously, eyeing him wearily and stepping back to distance herself.

"Oh, I'm fine. Wouldn't be the first time a girl socked me in the nose. I've just got to get out of here." The figure said while stumbling from the doorway and out into the mid-day sunshine. He walked a few paces before something seemed to occur to him. Turning on the spot to face her, he voiced his sudden question, "What are you doing here anyway?"

Cho blushed again. She hadn't wanted to attract attention to herself from anyone else in the household, she just wanted to see and speak with Harry, "I just wanted to talk to Harry. We just got out of a war and I wanted to see if he was okay and…and…He's my friend and I just wanted to talk to him!" Cho said quickly and irritably. Why was he questioning her anyway? So what if he lived here, he was obviously leaving and therefore forfeiting any right he might have had to question her.

"Calm down! I just wanted to know what was up. Nothing horrible has happened anywhere, right?" Cho was a little affronted at the idea that she would only be visiting if she had something terrible to tell them.

"No. Everything is _fine_." She said icily.

"Take a chill pill Chang, I was just asking." The figure said before walking a few more steps away. Cho was puzzled, how did he know her name?

With sudden realization, Cho stared at the slowly disappearing figure in shock and pity. She couldn't believe that she hadn't even recognized George in the state that he was in. She could only imagine what it would have felt like to lose Fred, someone who had been a part of his life since day one. It had felt like her world had ended when she had lost Cedric and he had only been a part of her life for a year, she couldn't begin to fathom what he was going through.

Though, Cho thought with a grimace of disgust tinged with sympathy, his appearance suggested that he had been drowning whatever it was that he was feeling in heavy amounts of liquor. Dragging her eyes away from the almost gone black shape, Cho raised her hand to once again knock on the door and realized that George had never shut it. Poking her head around the frame, she thought she heard voices coming from behind a door that was next to a staircase. Looking around a bit, Cho realized that she had been about to knock on the kitchen door rather than on the front door. Sighing in resignation, Cho shut the piece of wood and started to walk around to the other side where she had mistakenly taken an opening for the backdoor when she had first arrived.

The Burrow was just as confusing and mismatched as everyone had told her. As the daughter of a mother who had worked in the old Ministry of Magic (and hopefully in the new one) she had seen some amazing things on Take Your Kid to Work Day, but still nothing seemed to compare to this remarkable structure before her. She was sure that it had to be old magic holding the thing together because only the strongest spell looked like it could keep the top heavy house from falling down from its tenuous perch at any moment.

Focusing back on her task rather than on the fascinating house before her as she reached the _front_ door, Cho flexed her hand into a fist and, with a determined stretch of her arm, knocked firmly on the piece of wood.

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A/N: Sadly, I think that's the longest thing I have ever written. Phew. Now, if you would be ever so more kind, please drop me a line and tell me what you think. I appreciate it and thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Gasp What's this? An actual update?! And then the world ended and Satan's having a snowball fight with the Easter Bunny. I'm sorry people, I went to college and my free time up and died. But the end of the quarter not only means lots and lots of finals, but also lots and lots of periods of time when I want to do anything but study and viola! Out comes this! I would also like to assure you that while previously I was just winging it, I now have a definite idea of where I'm going and I even have some more chapters planned. Yay!

By the by, this chapter is _so_ in honor of The Happy Stalker Ball because they rock my socks with their reviews. Thank you so, so much. Thanks as well to everyone else who reviewed. It means so much to me, and…I wish I could tell you how much getting a review means to me. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

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Cho was starting to sweat. As soon as she had knocked, an instant hush had fallen over the whispers she had previously heard issuing from the solid door before her. The solid door that failed to, however, instantly open and instead glared at her accusingly as she waited for_someone_ on the other side to get the idea in their head that, really, she wasn't going anywhere and yes, would like to be answered any time now. After standing on the doorstep for a full minute, Cho knocked another time.

She heard a creaking as more whispers started again and she was relieved to hear footsteps start to come towards the door where she still stood (patiently, she might hasten to add) waiting. Honestly, the things she did for Harry.

As the door opened to reveal a searching green eye, Cho waved hesitantly.

"Cho! Oh it's you, sweetheart; we thought it might be another newspaper—"

"Just can't keep their hands off this boy here." A voice said within. Mrs. Weasley leaned away from the door enough to look behind her at the speaker, allowing Cho her first glimpse within.

It was large. Which was surprising for the relatively small outside, but, well—magic and all that she supposed. There was a plethora of red-haired, freckled-spotted, boys scattered across the room and Cho realized that her previously hoped for thought of only speaking to Harry was slowly going down the drain. The monotony of red was stopped only by the brown of Hermione's head as she reclined against Ron in their couch as well as the jet black of—

Harry.

Forgetting for a moment why she was there in the first place, it was all Cho could do to blink. It...it really hadn't been that long since the last time she had seen him, and yet it seemed like it had been a millennia. Her throat closed up, her tongue grew thick, her stomach dropped, and she felt like she could have walked on air if only he had asked her.

"Cho? What can we do for you, darling?" Only to crash land back on earth in an instant as Mrs. Weasley interrupted her Harry fantasies—

Musings, really. Yes. Musings. She was over him. Really.

"Ah—" Cho cleared her suspiciously dry throat, "I'm here to talk to Harry…" all eyes immediately were drawn to the boy wonder himself who was unable to do anything but blush. Cho felt an echoing blush heat her checks as all the gazes—as if a ping ball had bounced between them and perfectly in sync—refocused on her.

"Well, there he is," a voice said from the hallway and immediately the previously intent gazes went everywhere but on Cho or Harry, "Say what you need." Cho resentfully tore her eyes off of Harry and watched as Ginny waltzed in from another door (not the kitchen, she dryly noted mentally) and sat on the unoccupied space next to Harry on the loveseat.

Loveseat. Damn it.

Cho cleared her throat again, "Just…just checking in. Wanted to see if Harry—ah, everyone was okay. What with never catching up, and worrying, and disappearing, and—ah…" Desperate, all eyes were once again upon her and she could actually _see_ their pity for the poor lovesick girl growing as her ramble increased and she didn't know what to say, so just said anything, just to get them to _stop looking at her_ like that, "And well—I…I see George's not, well, doing well…but who could blame him and I was just—"

"What?" One of the red heads sitting in a seat to the right of the door said. All Cho could say as to recognizing the red-haired boy was that he wasn't Ron. Grateful for the distraction nonetheless, she ran with it.

"George. He just left now. I ran into him by the kitch—"

"Damn that little sneaking brat!" Cho was surprised at Mrs. Weasley's outburst. She never knew that she could flare-up like that…

"I'm sorry?" Cho replied hesitantly, "Should I have stopped him?"

"Oh no, dear, don't worry. We just…Well, George's not taking it so well. Obviously."

Cho had nothing to say to that so only made the best sympathetic face she could, which, given the stressful circumstances, must have just looked like she was creasing her eyes in constipation. Ah well, it was the thought that counted.

Mrs. Weasley, understanding despite the mixed signals as only a mother could, patted her on the head, "I'll give him your sympathies dear. Charlie!" The read head from before snapped to attention and Cho nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden shout, "Go get him back here now!"

With another snap the figure disapparated immediately.

"Look, dear, it's not that we don't appreciate you coming by—"

"But this is a family matter…I understand." Cho sighed, no she didn't. Harry and Hermione got to stay but she had to leave? True, that wasn't really fair but she had come all the way over here to _talk_ to him and she wasn't in the mood for being fair about anything, "Just wanted to check up on you, Harry."

"Thanks, Cho." Harry said with a smile, hooking an unconscious arm around the girl next to him, "I'm doing fine."

Yes. It seemed he was.

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A/N: Yes, I know. Not my best writing. But I was in the middle of a writer's block and me, being bored in Chem class, just tried getting past it. I somewhat promise that the rest will be better. Thank you for reading and now please review! It's kind of weird, but the third chapter has had more hits than the second…meh. Please review and thank you for your time!


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